Wake Me Up
by quoth-the-pigeon
Summary: "I'm dying." Arthur looked up from his paper, the cup of tea halfway to his mouth. "…What?" FrUK. Very short one-shot


Right, so I had a really bad dream last night and woke up in an emotional state and I wrote this as a form of catharsis for myself. Enjoy, I guess.

_Chris

* * *

"I'm dying."

Arthur looked up from his paper, the cup of tea halfway to his mouth. "…What?"

Francis folded his arms against the kitchen island. He leaned slightly, eyes distant, as he sat next to Arthur on the wooden stool. "It's…my time." He looked away from the window and to England's wide green eyes.

Arthur put the cup down, the tea suddenly unappetizing. "What are you talking about? You're fine!" The paper was discarded and Arthur turned to him fully, nausea filling his stomach and a dull fear making every aspect of his body ache. "Don't even joke like that."

France gave him a sad smile, his head resting on folded fingers. He didn't say anything for a long time, his eyes simply taking in every aspect of the man sitting beside him. His eyes, the color of budding cornflowers, closed for a moment and his shoulders sagged as though carrying an inhuman weight. "I wish I were joking, _Angleterre_. I really wish I was." His hand crossed the gap between their bodies and rested on Arthur's shoulder.

England looked down to the hand and then back to Francis' blue eyes. "You…you can't be serious!" he cried, throat constricting in panic. "Francis, your economy is fine, your government is unified and your populace is satisfied." Arthur shook his head in confusion. "There's nothing wrong with you! How can you be dying?"

Francis stayed silent, simply moving his hand from England's shoulder and into his hand, entwining their fingers in a strong lock. "_Angleterre_," he said softly, and there was a note of old fatigue in there. He stood up from the stool, the wood clattering softly as it slid back, and pulled at Arthur's arm. "Come with me."

Arthur stood up in a jerk, the teacup rattling loudly in the saucer as his arm accidently hit it. Their hands were still entwined together as he was led by the older nation past the living room and up the stairs to their bedroom.

The sheets were still a mess, balled up and wrinkled from both bodies sleeping there. Francis sat down and pulled Arthur with him, lying down on top of the skewed sheets and flattened pillows as he pulled his lover's body close.

Arthur clutched to him tightly, sensing an air of resigned capitulation to the other man. He was scared suddenly and looked up searchingly into France's eyes. "France, whatever this is…we can do something about it. You can't…there's nothing that should be causing you to die." He stopped, fumbling for words and realized that he was panicking. "There has to be something."

Francis shook his head, pulling England closer to him and rested his jaw on the other's head. "_Non_," he stopped and turned his cheek against the short sandy hair. "I've known for a long time. It's just my time Arthur, that's all there is to it."

England pulled back, palms encasing France's face and stared evenly into his eyes. The whiskers from his jaw prickled his skin. "What do you mean you've known for a long time? Why didn't you tell me then? Francis! There has to be something I can do! Nations just don't die like this."

Taking the frightened island nation's hand away from his cheek, France kissed his knuckles and then replaced the hand over his own slowly beating heart. "It's alright, Arthur. It's okay."

Searching for something, anything to tell him this was all a horrible mistake, Arthur's world suddenly shattered at he stared into France's knowing eyes. "It…it can't be," he choked out hoarsely. His throat was swelling tightly and sudden hot tears were blurring his vision.

France stayed silent and held Arthur's hand tighter.

The tears were suddenly coming down, burning angrily against his skin. "When?" he asked, moving his hand away from the other's chest and around him as though to keep him from fading away.

"Soon." Francis stroked Arthur's hair gently; his eyes dry through they glistened at seeing the tears.

"Soon? What do you mean soon? How soon?"

Francis paused, pulling Arthur tightly against him until their chests were melded together. "Arthur, I love you."

That was all he needed to know. England sobbed against his shoulder, the white shirt France was wearing becoming translucent from tears. "You can't die! You just can't." Francis didn't pull away, instead his grip tightened for a moment. "Don't leave me." Arthur begged.

Francis finally looked down, locking into the reddened spring green eyes. His voice was finally strained. "As long as you remember me, I'll always be there with you." He bent down and kissed Arthur gently.

The kiss lasted for a few seconds and then Arthur pulled away. "I love you. God, please don't do this! You git! Please! Don't…."  
A tear finally fell from Francis shut eyes, and he nuzzled England's neck. "Je t'aime, Arthur. Adieu." And suddenly he just wasn't there.

Arthur sat up, staring at the spot his lover had been seconds before, now only the clothes he had been wearing remained. "Francis!" He yelled, looking around the room in vain. He bent down, curling up as he continued to cry. "No, no!" He knew what had happened. His body had been claimed by time as a final payment. Arthur curled in tighter to himself. It felt like his heart had been ripped into two, and he continued to cry.

* * *

Arthur opened his eyes, his throat constricting at the dream. Green eyes looked at the ceiling and then he turned over, the urge to hold Francis suddenly overwhelming.

He wasn't there.

Shooting up, Arthur stared at the spot next to him. The sheets were straightened as though no one had slept there. He rolled over, stumbling out of the bed and nearly falling as his foot caught in the twisted bedding. He rushed to the bathroom door, opening it quickly and hoping to see the other nation. "Francis?"

He wasn't there either.

England left the door open, rushing quickly to the bedroom door and escaping to the upstairs landing, he quickly shot down the stairs, looking for the blond haired man. "Francis!" he cried and could feel the burning tears in the corner of his eyes.

"Arthur?" France was standing in the kitchen, a glass of milk in his hand as he blinked at the terrified nation. "Arthur what's wr–," he was cut off as Arthur crashed into him, spilling the milk over both of them and England held him tightly in a hug. France put the remainder of the milk down on the counter and looped his arms around his lover. "Arthur?"

He stayed silent, opting to just hold the other man to him and listening to his heart. England took a shuddering breath, nestling his head into the crook of France's neck. "Nightmare," He finally said quietly.

Francis drew his fingers through the short sandy hair and then pulled back slightly. " About what? You look terrified."

"You died." Arthur shook his head and looked up, throat tight. "You just died."

France gave him a small smile and gave a quick kiss to his furrowed brow. "It's alright, Arthur. I'm right here. I'm not dying."

England nodded into the red shirt he was wearing and pulled away, feeling ridiculous and over emotional. "Right. I know." He rubbed at his stinging eyes, though no tears had fallen.

Holding a towel and dabbing at his wet shirt, Francis studied him in silence. He finally moved over and dabbed at the undershirt England was wearing. He gave him a kiss to the cheek and smiled. "Come, _mon lapin_. Go change and I'll make breakfast." He paused and gave a typical Francis smile, "Unless you like to walk around in your underwear?"

In response, Arthur's face flushed slightly and he began to storm away. "Oh, shut up." He walked up the stairs hearing France's laughter and knew there was nothing else he wanted to hear.


End file.
